


With a Bang

by Cristinuke



Series: Bang Bang [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hospitals, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke/pseuds/Cristinuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Clint saw Phil again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a Bang

**Author's Note:**

> Many thank you's to my lovely beta [varjohaltija](http://archiveofourown.org/users/varjohaltija) :D

He was dead. Clint knew it. There was no other explanation for it. He knew that his choice had meant certain death, and he had embraced it, knowing his time had finally come.

For once, Clint was actually, truly _proud_ of himself, because his choice had meant the lives of everybody else. His choice had given everybody the chance to have a life, and the only price had been Clint's. Clint was fine with this, _so_ fine.

He was okay. Because it meant he would be with Phil again.

Sure enough, when he opened his eyes, he couldn't help the smile that grew on his face as elation floated through him. He felt so loose and floaty, and he felt invincible.

 _This_ was heaven.

Clint had no idea how he'd managed to sneak in, but he didn't care, because right there, Phil, _his Phil_ , was looking at him, and Clint had never seen anything better. It was like he was finally home.

Clint blinked at Phil, not caring that he had a goofy grin plastered over his face; he expected Phil to smile back, make a joke or say something, but the more Clint watched Phil, the more he realized that Phil wasn't smiling. In fact, Phil was frowning a bit, like a grimace.

"Clint?" His voice even sounded pained, but like an emotional pain. Why was Phil feeling pain if he was dead? Do the dead still feel pain?

Clint didn't like that. Why wasn't he smiling back? They were both dead, and in heaven, so why wouldn't Phil smile? He just wanted Phil to smile back.

The floaty feeling was starting to make Clint's head spin a little, and he noticed that his vision was turning a bit hazy, some details swimming in and out of focus. Clint blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, and it helped marginally. He was finally able to really focus on Phil, and Clint's confusion just ratcheted higher when he realized with a jolt that Phil's expression was guilt.

 _Guilt_? Why?

Clint's smile had long faded as he kept looking at Phil. He had a pinched look in his eyes, and a crease in his forehead; his lips were pulled into a tight, worried line, and his whole body posture screamed exhaustion and shame.

Clint opened his mouth to say something, but his throat was suddenly too dry, too scratchy to vocalize a sound. He ended up coughing, a dry hacking that burned, and Clint didn't like that at all. Phil seemed to jump into movement, and suddenly there was something small being presented to Clint's mouth. Clint belatedly realized it was a straw, as he closed his mouth around it and started sucking up the lukewarm water. It felt great going down, but it didn't feel like enough. When his stomach started protesting a bit, Clint stopped drinking, and licked his lips, realizing they were chapped a bit.

Phil pulled back the straw and cup and set it back down on the bedside table.

Bedside table.

Now that Clint was looking around, he realized he was in a bed. In a room. A white room, with furniture, and ugly paintings, and monitors, and IVs, and windows, and an intercom, and, and, and…

And Phil.

That didn't make any sense at all. Why would Clint's heaven be a hospital? Hospitals were from when he'd wake up after getting seriously injured. He _would have been_ seriously injured if Clint was still alive, so waking up in a hospital would have made sense.

But Phil?

Phil was dead. Phil wouldn't be there, in a hospital, if Clint had survived. So obviously, Clint hadn't survived, that much was clear.

But now that he was really waking up, Clint noticed little details that were off: his heart felt like it was beating, and the monitor seemed to agree, if the soft beeping was any indication; the stiffness of the bedsheets were exactly like how any hospital Clint's ever woken up in were like; the haziness and floating feelings Clint was experiencing seemed to fit in nicely with what Clint finally connected to being on painkillers was like; his body's increasing protests, from sore muscles, to fatigue, to plain vague pain were on par with the reasons why Clint would wake up in a hospital in the first place; and the quiet, muffled voices of activity bustling around just beyond his room was a dead giveaway to being in a medical facility.

But Phil was here.

Clint's head was spinning in confusion.

"Clint?" His voice again. Exactly how he remembered it. How was this possible? "Clint, you're in the hospital." _Figured that one out, thanks._

"Why?" Clint's voice was barely a whisper as it came out unbidden. Clint stopped searching around the room and settled on looking straight at Phil.

Phil's pinched expression deepened. "You were in a fight, Clint, remember? With the team, against,-"

"Why?" Clint interrupted, slightly louder.

It was Phil's turn to look confused. "I'm telling you, Clint, you were in a,-"

"Why here, though? Why a hospital? I don't get it." Clint interrupted again, exasperation bleeding though. Why wasn't Phil understanding?

"Because you were injured, Clint." Phil phrased it carefully, speaking slowly as if he was concerned Clint wasn't tracking well. Clint narrowed his eyes at Phil.

"I mean, if we're dead, why're we in a goddamn hospital? Shouldn't we be, I dunno, frolicking in a field somewhere? Lounging on clouds while feeding each other grapes or s'me shit like tha'? Why're we _here_?" Clint felt like he was speaking quickly, but he realized he was slurring some of his words.

Phil's expression morphed into anguish combined with more guilt and self-loathing. His eyes were huge and more sad than Clint had ever seen before in his life, and Clint was beyond confused, because Phil should never look like this, especially when he was dead.

"Clint…" Phil spoke softly and carefully again, as if not trying to startle Clint, "you're not dead. And neither am I."

A bubble of laughter broke out of Clint's mouth unexpectedly. "Sure, Phil. I didn't die, and you didn't die, and we're totally having this conversation on earth." Clint's brief good humor faded quickly as he saw Phil's expression darken even more.

"Clint. You are _not_ dead." Phil straightened up in his chair and his hands twitched as if he wanted to touch Clint but was forcing himself back.

"Then I've gone fucking crazy, because you sure as fuck are!" Clint's heart was pounding hard, and he was trying to keep his sudden panic in check. He was really starting to hate Phil's expression that was growing more and more sad.

"Clint, please, let me explain." Phil pleaded with Clint. That made Clint snap his mouth closed, hoping he was going to get some answers. Thinking he was finally cracking wasn't doing much for his mental stability at the moment.

"I _did_ die, wait, let me finish" Clint closed his mouth again against the retort that was on the tip of his tongue, "But Fury brought me back. I'm not really sure how it's been possible…I'm still looking into it and it just gets more and more confusing, but it happened. I'm here, and I'm alive."

"You died two years ago, Phil. There's no way anyone can bring back someone to life after two years." Clint pointed out, refusing to accept the fact that he was in all likelihood, talking to himself. He was becoming more and more sure that he, himself, was truly alive like Phil was saying. But there was no way Phil was too.

Clint gave Phil a sad, pointed look as if to say that he found the lie, but Phil's face fell even more.

"I haven't been dead for two years." Clint blinked. It was the only thing he could do at this point. "They had me in cryo or some sort of stasis for days before they started operating on me. Recovery took a while." There was something bitter in Phil's voice at that, but Clint's mind was full of too much static to really look into that.

"Aside from the fact that that's not possible, I _know_ that it's impossible that the Phil I know would let me believe that he was dead. For t-two years." Clint swallowed hard. He could do this. He was not going to return to _that_. Not again.

Phil's voice was barely a whisper, "I would if Fury had told me you were already on a high-level undercover operation that couldn't be interrupted, and that you were finally getting over me." Phil's eyes were filling with tears, and Clint was finding it hard to breathe.

"And, and, and what would you have been doing, then, for those two years?" Clint was blurting out the first thing he could think of, fighting the urge to throw up. "Two years, Phil, had to do something, because you wouldn't have just sat around in a house, living the domestic life, not,- not without- not without…" He couldn’t finish the sentence, and his breaths were coming out faster and faster.

Phil reached out and made as if to place his hand on Clint's arm, trying to be comforting, but it had the opposite effect on Clint who snatched his arm back with panic in his eyes. "Just answer me!" Clint yelled, gulping his breaths down and ignoring Phil's calming _breathe, Clint, breathe_. "Tell me what Phil Coulson has been doing for the last two fucking years that was so much more important than letting me know he was alive?"

Phil looked absolutely devastated. "I wanted to, Clint. Oh god, I _wanted_ to tell you so badly, but Fury made me promise, and gave me a team and-"

"There." Clint stated, abruptly going lax. "That's how I know you're not real." Clint scrubbed his face with his hands and sighed out loud.

Crazy. He had finally cracked. And this was how it was going down. Clint wished he had actually died.

"Clint. I'm real. I _couldn't_ tell you. You were able to save the world because I _didn't_ tell you. That would have never have happened otherwise, and you know it. Please, just tell me how to make you believe that I’m real?" Clint cracked an eye open to look at Phil, and he could see the way he was visibly restraining himself from touching Clint. Probably thinking he'd set him off again, or that he didn't deserve it.

Clint didn't know what to do. He wanted to believe Phil _so badly_ but there was no way this was real. Everything was going to hurt either way.

But the more he watched Phil, the more he saw how utterly wrecked Phil looked. He was showing so much more vulnerability than Clint had ever seen, even when Phil had been facing imminent death. He was cracked wide open, with every single emotion splayed out to be picked apart and dissected. He looked real, and his story could be plausible if Clint thought about it enough.

Clint wanted to _believe_ too much.

"Take me to dinner." Clint whispered. At Phil's surprised face, Clint continued, "You want me to believe you? Take me to dinner, right now. It's how we make sure the other's alive, right? Show me. Prove to me you're alive." Getting more and more determined, Clint began pulling the heart monitor pads off of his chest carefully and kicked the sheets off the bed. Clint swung his legs over the other side of the bed and braced himself to stand, ignoring how Phil was scrambling all of a sudden behind him, wordless cautious sounds coming out of his mouth. Clint reached out for the IV stand, and pulled himself up, leaning heavily on the stand and ignoring the pain that had been dormant come back to wash over Clint.

By the time that Clint had made his way over to the door, he was sweating and breathing hard already. Phil hadn't made him lie back down though, silently accepting that this was the only way that Clint would believe him. So he opened the door for Clint and led him out into the hallway.

He started leading Clint through the hospital, going slowly for Clint's benefit, and hands always hovering close by, but never touching; just there as a precaution. Clint made sure to not need the help. He needed to know first.

They were stopped by a nurse just before the elevator, but one look from Phil had her pursing her lips but leaving them alone. Clint tried not to think about think about that shred of proof too hard. He could have easily imagined the nurse.

They got in the elevator, and the whole ride was silent, save for Clint's ragged wheezing. He still hadn't really done a self-examination of what was actually wrong with him, but he couldn't stop and think about it now. Besides, it hadn't truly hindered him so far so Clint pushed it out of his mind.

The elevator _dinged_ to announce their arrival, and Phil led him out and around the corner towards the hospital cafeteria. It must have been very late at night, Clint thought, because the place was quiet empty, save for some haggard-looking nurses and an exhausted doctor in the corner.

Phil corralled Clint into a chair at a table, making sure that Clint was settled before he said, "I'll be right back." He didn't move until Clint made eye contact with him.

Clint watched with tired eyes as Phil went over to the shelf and grabbed a bunch of chip bags and granola bars. He snatched up some apples and a banana as well as two bottles of water and a yogurt before dropping a bill in the cash register lady's hand. He didn't even wait for his change back, simply walking quickly back to Clint and dumping his bounty on the table top.

Clint stared at the over spilling food, and realized he was shaking and crying. He gasped in a breath and looked up to see that Phil had come over to the side, and was currently kneeling beside Clint, hands gripping the table and Clint's chair so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

"Clint? Please, believe me. I'm real. I'm here, I'm alive. Clint, please." Phil was begging Clint, and Clint suddenly knew, he just _knew_ that Phil was telling the truth, he was real and here and alive, just like he'd said, and Clint didn't know how it happened, but he found himself in Phil's arms, clinging to him and feeling him, breathing him in. He felt Phil's warmth and beating heart, and felt his breath and firm grip around his body and heard his voice and his sounds, and Clint knew that there was no way, no possible way that he couldn't believe Phil wasn't alive, right here, right now.

"I'm sorry, I’m so sorry, Clint, I love you, fuck I love you so much, I'm so sorry." Phil kept chanting, hands touching everywhere along Clint's bruised and battered body. Clint couldn't feel the pain, not over the fact that his hands were doing the same before giving up and simply clinging to Phil, arms locked around his neck and head buried into his shoulder.

"You're alive, you're aliveyou're _alive_ ," Clint was too shocked, too happy, too _warm_ to care about how he was crying so hard that his words were becoming unintelligible. He certainly didn't think about the other nurses and the doctor in the corner, and what they might make of the sobbing couple on the floor.

Because Phil was crying too, Clint realized. They were both tangled up in each other, Clint in Phil's lap and sprawled across the floor, and they were crying for all the world to see. The thought made Clint giggle around a sniffle, and suddenly he was laughing hysterically while still crying.

"Clint? What is it? What's wrong?" Phil asked, pulling back slightly to look at Clint's face with concern.

It took a few breaths and false starts before Clint could talk without dissolving into more giggles, "This is the worst dinner you've ever given me. This food is shit." Clint broke down into more laughter at that, and it was enough to be contagious, Phil catching on and laughing with him.  

They probably looked like deranged, escaped patients, but Clint didn't care. He supposed he _was_ an escaped patient, technically, and the thought just made him laugh more, burying his head back into Phil and curling up in his arms more.

They both stayed like that, curled around each other until their tears and laughter fizzled down  to easy, quiet breathing. That was also around the time that Clint realized he'd been on the _really_ good drugs, and they were starting to wear off.

Phil noticed Clint's slight squirming and occasionally pained breaths, saying, "We should probably get you back upstairs. Nurses are going to kill me for stealing you away."

Clint stiffened at the joke, "No, I won't let them kill you."

Phil realized how tactless he'd been, so he tightened his grip around Clint and said warmly, "I'm sorry. You're right, too soon. Let's get you to bed, okay?"

Clint mumbled his assent and nodded his head, feeling so tired and sleepy. He didn't want to let go of Phil though, and barely agreed to rearrange himself so that Phil was supporting Clint as he helped him up. When Phil led him over to a wheelchair, pulling the IV stand along, Clint resolutely refused to sit down, because that would mean letting go of Phil. No matter how much Phil tried to convince Clint, he wouldn't accept it. He had the feeling that Phil didn't particularly push very hard, simply giving up and helping Clint along back to the elevator and down the hall.

By the time Phil was easing Clint back into his bed, Clint was drenched with sweat and his breathing was labored again. Almost immediately, the same nurse from before showed up, and with an irritated huff, she went about putting the heart monitor back on and checking the IVs.

"In pain?" She asked flatly, knowing full well that Clint had to be. Clint could only nod through gritted teeth, and she _mmhm_ ed and gave Clint another dose of painkillers. She gave a warning glare at Phil, who was holding hands with Clint's, before finally leaving.

Clint turned his head to look at Phil, and started tugging at their clasped hands. "C'mon, you're going to get a sore back if you keep sitting in that chair."

Phil started to protest, but Clint ignored him, pulling harder and shifting over to the side to make room for Phil.

"Please, Phil. Come here?"

Clint could see how there was no way Phil was going to refuse him now. He got onto the bed carefully, mindful of Clint, but as soon as he was settled, Clint rolled over and fitted himself snugly against Phil's body, clinging desperately and refusing to move. Phil seemed to welcome the new position as he wrapped his arms around Clint and held him safe.

"Try to go back to sleep, okay?" Phil murmured quietly.

Clint nodded, but after a moment, he said, "I'm mad at you. I love you and am so… fucking happy you're here….relieved. Jus' remind me to yell at you tomorrow mornin', 'kay?" The drugs were working fast to drag him under.

"I promise." Phil assured, and Clint nodded against him. It didn't take long for their breathing to sync up, and for Clint to fall asleep, safe and happy with Phil in his bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed reading this series as much as I've had fun writing it! ^_^
> 
> Thank you!


End file.
